


From the Ashes

by ilcuoreardendo



Series: Another Space and Time (Star Wars fics) [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby Luke, Canon Divergence - Revenge of the Sith, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Consent Issues, Dark Anakin, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, M/M, Male Lactation, Medical, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, Parent-Child Relationship, Poor Obi-Wan, Possessive Anakin Skywalker, Possessive Behavior, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Protective Obi-Wan, Sith Anakin Skywalker, Vaderkin, baby leia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:32:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12629094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: He can’t kill the man who was his padawan, his brother in arms, his…friend.But perhaps he can save a piece of him.The saving doesn't go as planned.





	From the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, people. I had a weird dream and I blame the course I'm writing and reading too much fic. And maybe sleep deprivation.
> 
> **Note:** This fic has some consent issues (medical). Read at your own risk. 
> 
> Written and posted first on [Tumblr](http://ilcuoreardendo-fic.tumblr.com).

* * *

Obi-Wan can feel Anakin in the Force without extending his reach. Anakin’s a maelstrom of shadow and heat, fear and rage and, somewhere beneath that, buried and twisted, is sorrow and love and heartbreak. 

Obi-Wan makes his final decision before he’s fully conscious of it, before he even sees Padme lying at Anakin’s feet, unconscious, weak, likely dying.

His lightsaber stays hooked to his belt and he rushes down the plank, flinging the Force out in front of him, aiming for Anakin and knocking him back and down an incline as Obi-Wan slides to a stop at Padme’s side, scoops the woman up and turns to run.

He can’t kill the man who was his padawan, his brother in arms, his…friend.

But perhaps he can save a piece of him.

He’s almost into the ship when his body freezes, feet stuck to the floor, arms locked and trembling beneath Padme’s weight, his blood growing sluggish in his veins. Anakin’s in front of him then, eyes bright with anger, hair sweat damp and lying across his brow in a way that Obi-Wan used to swear Anakin did on purpose just to irritate him.  

“Where are you going, Obi-Wan?”

“She needs medical attention.”

Anakin’s face darkens. “And she’ll get it. You never did trust me to do the right thing, did you Master?”

“ _Anakin_.” It leaves Obi-Wan’s throat raw to speak his name. “You were my brother. I trusted you. I loved you.”  

Anakin looks at him from beneath his brows, eyes sharp, steady. “And I love you, Master. All of you. That’s why I can’t let you go.”

Obi-Wan feels Anakin slipping into his mind, beneath his shields, weaving a sleep suggestion between the electrical pulses of his brain. As Obi-Wan slumps to his knees and then toward the deck of the ship, Anakin takes Padme from his arms and darkness takes his vision.

  
**~*~*~**

Obi-Wan wakes to afternoon sunlight spilling into a white room, wearing a thin hospital tunic and pants; his body feels as though it’s been through a dozen iterations of the Desert Wind kata. There’s an ache between his brows, in his back and along his limbs—not much time has passed, he thinks, if he’s still feeling the battle fatigue from Utapau—and there’s a strange, heavy ache in his chest, as if someone had taken a lightsaber on its training setting and fanned it across his pectorals, lightly singeing his nipples.

The room he’s in is sterile and quiet, save for the sound of soft snuffles and a murmuring voice across the way.

The last thing he remembers is the heat and flame of Mustafar, Anakin’s eyes flashing yellow as he took Padme from Obi-Wan’s arms, the coolness of the ship deck beneath his cheek.

“You’re awake.” Anakin moves like a shadow parting from shadows, straightening to his full height from where’s bent over a cradle.

Obi-Wan blinks and is on his feet and at the side of the cradle before the idea that, perhaps, he should be wary of the man standing before him, coalesces.

Anakin places a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and lets it slide down to the small of his back. Obi-Wan ignores the touch, looks into the cradle. Two infants lie side by side, small stockinged feet touching at the heels. One has a shock of blond hair, the other wisps of dark. Reflections of their parentage. They are no more than an hour old, a few hours at best, bright and shining in the Force.

“Padme?” Obi-Wan’s voice is roughened, by smoke, by grief.

A tremble in the Force and then Anakin turns his face away. “Dead.” The word is said like a curse.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Obi-Wan breathes. When all is said and done, he truly is. For Anakin has always sought out people to belong to, to belong to him. And to lose one of them must be a pain beyond imagining. Obi-Wan strokes a finger over the soft, downy cheek of the blond baby and breathes shakily, trying to release his own grief—he has lost _everyone—_ to the Force.

“I couldn’t save her,” Anakin says and there’s something beneath the grief, a treble of fury, sour and acrid on the back of Obi-Wan’s tongue. Then it’s gone, replaced by somber longing, a tentative hope. “But I have them. And I have you.” The hand that was on Obi-Wan’s back slides around to touch his hip, pulling him in close to Anakin’s body. Obi-Wan stiffens. “And they have you.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth but is cut off by a gurgle and then a bird-sharp cry from the baby whose cheek he’d just stroked. His lessons from the creche come back to him easily and in a moment, he has the baby up and cradled against his chest.

Anakin’s fingers drift over the back of the downy head. “Luke’s hungry,” he says and Obi-Wan can feel it, the surge of want through the tiny body, the desire to be held close, cuddled, fed. Luke turns his head, roots against the bare skin at the deep V of Obi-Wan’s loose tunic. Searching for the nourishing comfort of the mother who should be alive to provide it, Obi-Wan thinks. Luke cries again, higher pitched this time and before he can shush him, Obi-Wan freezes as the peculiar weight and burn in his chest turns to pins and needles, a strange tingle in his nipples. There’s a sudden wetness on the front of his tunic.

“ _Anakin_ …” Obi-Wan says, the name coming choked and stuttering as Obi-Wan’s brain tries to reconcile the fact that he is…lactating.

“It’s all right,” Anakin says, lifting the other baby from the cradle and drawing Obi-Wan across the room with his arm around him. And Obi-Wan must be in shock, because he lets Anakin push him into a soft chair with a high back and padded arms, lets Anakin loosen the belt of his tunic, pushing it open to reveal his smooth chest, nipples puffy and hard, the underlying tissues swollen.

“I had the medical droid give you injections, to stimulate lactation. Padme’s gone, Obi-Wan. But the twins need someone to feed them, love them, care for them. Especially when I’m not here.” Anakin’s fingers slide up Obi-Wan’s neck, over his cheek, flicking hair out of his eyes. “They need _you_.”

Luke emits another soft cry and Obi-Wan turns away from the earnest expression on Anakin’s face, a look he saw so many times when Anakin was still a boy. It’s so at odds with the sheen of gold still in his eyes. He looks at the baby nuzzling against his chest. A little piece of Anakin, of Padme, innocent and bright. 

It takes only a slight shift of Obi-Wan’s arm beneath Luke’s head and then there’s a small pain as Luke finds his nipple and begins to nurse. Obi-Wan stares at the baby’s contented face, unable to look away, unwilling to look up at the man who has brought all known reality crashing down around him.

He feels rather than hears the sigh that comes from Anakin. And a moment later, Anakin’s helping Obi-Wan cradle the other twin—Leia—in his left arm, guiding the baby to nurse at his other breast. For a moment, all Obi-Wan is aware of is the strange pull at his nipples, the contented hum of the Force that surrounds the children as he holds them close.

Then there’s Anakin, all darkness and heat behind him, leaning close and pressing a proprietary kiss to the top of Obi-Wan’s head.

“One family died in the flames of Mustafar, Obi-Wan.” Anakin kneels beside the chair, long fingers of his flesh and blood hand resting against Obi-Wan’s neck, thumb stroking along the flutter of Obi-Wan’s heartbeat as he looks Obi-Wan in the eyes. Anakin’s eyes are blue now. “But another rose from them. And the sooner you accept that, the better off we’ll all be.”


End file.
